The Woman
by Julia Vaughn
Summary: Irene returns, awakening things sherlock preferred to leave in Kazakhstan... rated T, but subject to change.
1. Awakenings

He heard the low, breathy, whimpering sound known as female crying coming from his bedroom. Sherlock picked up his pace from a leisurely stroll to a brisk walk, thinking it might be Mrs. Hudson again. He burst in the door, battle strategy formulating as Ms. Irene Adler shot up from a lying down to a sitting position. John whom had been following close behind was astonished. "IRENE!?"

"Ms. Adler." Sherlock observed coolly.

"Mr. Holmes." Irene replied, mimicking his tone. She was wearing his favorite dressing gown that Sherlock guessed was alone on her body. Her hair was down and rumpled, and her face bore no makeup, still pale from sleep. He realized he liked the sight of her like this, vulnerable, and not flirting so much or trying so hard.

"John, leave us. And shut the door on your way out."

"What's the magic word?" John taunted, Sherlock crunched up his face and spat out, "Please." As if it pained him to say it. "Very good. Thank you." John said as he shut the door behind him.

"How was Kazakhstan? I mean AFTER the part where you almost got killed?"

"It was good. Why? Where you worried?" she asked teasingly.

"WAS I WORRIED? I DON'T GET WORRIED! I CAN'T- I JUST-" He flung himself into the adjacent armchair, looking deflated. She was the only one who could do this to him. He was -for the first time- at a loss for words. He decided on, "I thought you were dead." The words hit her like a slap in the face. She flinched, and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to apologize, get up and hold her in his arms. Instead though, he simply said, "Put some clothes on." And left.

"So? What happened?" John had been waiting for him in the living room. "I told her to put some clothes on." Sherlock was reading the paper and finishing a cup of tea. "Telling someone to put clothes on _does not_ take that long. Or involve that much yelling"

"I guess it does." John could tell that Sherlock preferred not to divulge the rest of the details of his reunion with Irene, so he decided to let it go. Irene came out a couple seconds later and Sherlock snapped his paper back up and stated, "I told you to put clothes on."

"I didn't feel like it," she snapped.

"I'm going out." John declared, feeling the rising tension.

"No, you're not!" they both shouted at him at the same time. Neither of them wanted to be alone together. "Well, you two both OBVIOUSLY need to talk about SOMETHING like grown-ups, so…"

"We do not."

"Being a grown-up is dull." They had both spoken at the same time. Sherlock started up again with the paper and Irene sat down and started tapping her long nails incessantly. John continued typing up their latest adventure, "The Baked Baker" when all hell broke loose. "I NEVER ASKED FOR YOU TO SAVE ME!"

"I NEVER ASKED YOU TO GET YOURSELF KILLED!"

"IT'S MY JOB!"

"NO ONE _FLIRTS_ WITH MIDDLE EASTERN DICTATORS!"

"I DO!"

"NO WONDER! IDIOTS TEND TO GET THEMSELVES KILLED! THAT'S WHY I CAN'T BOTHER MYSELF WITH TRIVIAL THINGS LIKE _RELATIONSHIPS_!" John tried to quiet them down.

"GUYS-"

"NO, ITS BECAUSE YOU'RE SCARED AND CHILDISH!"

"I DON'T GET SCARED!"

"UH-HUH!"

"DO NOT!"

"GUYS!"

"I DO NOT GET SCARED! I DON'T HAVE FRIENDS, AND I DON'T FALL IN LOVE!" everything got quiet, Sherlock's last words sinking in. "Guys, what happened in Kazakhstan?"

"Nothing, John." Irene said quietly, "Absolutely _nothing_ happened." Irene brushed past Sherlock, looked him up and down and walked out of the room.

"Sherlock, what happened?"


	2. What Happened in Kazakhstan

"_When I say so, run. Run as fast as you can and don't stop." He heard the swish of the blade coming toward him, watching her run. He parried and dodged, then lunged, catching the moron off-guard. He didn't stop. He was like an automaton, emotionless and dangerous. Just how he liked it. He got out his phone and texted Irene._

_"الفندق وحيدا__"_

_"What the fuck is that?"_

_"Language, Ms. Adler. It's a hotel. Room 13."_

_"What hotel?" he sighed in frustration and responded, "That one."_

_"Fine. Don't answer. How about dinner? ;)" He grunted and closed the phone, putting it in his favorite coat pocket. He had a favorite everything. He was just trying to convince himself that he didn't have a favorite woman. He also didn't want her to know that the hotel in question translated to, "Hotel of The Lonely"._

_Ms. Adler entered the room and flopped down on the bed. Waiting for him. She was going to tell him, tonight. Paper crackled under her head as she landed. she turned over and read the note:_

Mlle Adler. Je suis désolé de le dire, notre relation a tourné à la non-activité. Au moins, je pense que cela pourrait avoir. C'est pourquoi j'ai dû quitter. Je suis désolé. que vous lisez ceci, je suis sur le prochain vol pour Londres. Il ya un billet pour New York enfermé dans cette enveloppe. Appréciez. Les adieux sincères, Sherlock Holmes PS J'ai écrit cela en français parce que pas beaucoup Kazakhistanis parler français.

(Miss Adler.

I'm sorry to say, our relationship has turned to non-business. At least, I think it might have. That's why I had to leave. I'm sorry. as you read this, I am on the next flight to London. There is a ticket to New York enclosed in this envelope. Enjoy.

Sincere Goodbyes,

Sherlock Holmes

P.S. I wrote this in french because not many Kazakhstanis speak french.)

_Irene sat back down. Sure enough, there was a ticket to New York in the envelope. No one was around, so she let her guard down and allowed herself to cry._


	3. A Choice

1 new message

John: Mycroft, just no. Ok?

Mycroft: Just tell him and let him solve it. For christ's sake, that's what he does!

John: Trust me... right now is NOT the time for a case.

Mycroft: Why the bloody hell not?

John: He has a choice to make.

Mycroft: What kind of choice?

John: I wish not to disclose. Now just leave it be. I need to find my laptop.

Mycroft: Sherlock?

John: Sherlock.

* * *

As Sherlock put down his mug, He heard John's phone go off. He leaped off the couch, eager to have something to hold over him for leaving earlier. He read John's and his brother's earlier messages and was a little miffed at them for being so vague. _It's simple etiquette to be specific for me. Hold on, A choice? What choice? hmmmm, I wonder what the case is..._

John walked in to find Sherlock with a contemplative look and his phone. "What- Sherlock! we discussed this! Phones are private objects intended for privacy."

"It's not my fault your password is your pin number."

"Oh, so you know my pin number too, now? That's excellent."

"Don't be so grim. I am a very difficult man to hide stuff from."

"Like how the earth goes 'round the sun?"

"Oh, great not this again. IT DOES NOT MATTER! God, your brain is so naive!"

"Whatever. Hey! where'd you put my laptop this time? I need to check my email."

"You have a message from your mother, asking about that sweater set and 2 from shareece inviting you over." John rolled his eyes and sighed. "Forget it. I'll be in my room."

"By the way, what did you mean by "A choice"?

"Ask Irene."

"I can't."

"why?"

"I can't look at her. It makes me feel all wierd and, tingly."

John chuckled. "Look, Sherlock, that's called love."

"No. it isn't, I'm just ill. Weren't you going to your room?"

"Um, yeah. I was-but my laptop, room is kind of dull without it."

"It's in the linen cupboard. Under the towels."


End file.
